Old Maid's Puzzle (16 page)

"You'll get it all done. You always do," Pearl said. She gave my back a series of quick pats. "This, too, shall pass."

"Hard to remember," I said.

"That's for sure, but just remember it's all minutiae, when it comes to your real mission on this earth."

I laughed bitterly. "Like I know what that is."

She frowned. "What happened? You were so clear last spring. You wanted to run the shop."

Her words felt like the x-ray apron at the dentist. Heavy and dense. I wanted to throw them off.

I thought I knew what I wanted last spring. "I guess the reality is different than what I'd imagined."

"Always is, kiddo, always is. But you've got to keep in mind what you're passionate about." Pearl turned my chair to face her. She looked into my eyes.

I tried to take in what Pearl was saying. Why did I want to run the shop? In fact, I had more reasons now than I'd had last spring.

There were so many things I hadn't known then. Like how many beautiful, unique finished projects the customers would bring in to show me. How proud I'd feel knowing that they used QP fabrics. I didn't know yet how many stories I'd hear about the babies who carried their quilts with them all the time, or the teenage boys who went to sleepovers with their quilts, or the fathers in nursing homes with lap quilts that warmed their bodies and souls.

I'd had a chance firsthand to see what quilting meant to people. I'd gone to the homeless shelter and handed out quilts to kids without families. I'd gathered Pink Ribbon blocks that were made into quilts and auctioned off to raise money for breast cancer research. I'd shipped quilts to Katrina victims. I'd really grown to love my customers and my workers. And quilts.

There was plenty that touched my soul. But there was also more trouble.

Pearl touched my hand, bringing me back. "What's the one thing you can do to make this store better? More like the place you envisioned?"

"Get rid of Kym." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt guilty, but then noticed an easing in my gut. It felt good to say the truth aloud. Even if I could never act on it. "We really don't belong working together, but what can I do? She's my sisterin-law."

Pearl crossed her arms and leaned back. "Did you ever consider she might not like working for you any better than you like being her boss?"

I turned back to the machine, sewing another three inches, concentrating on stopping the needle right on the yellow chalk dot I'd marked. "She loves it here."

Pearl lowered her voice. "No, she loved it here."

I couldn't have this discussion now. "I've got to get through Saturday," I said. Pearl gave me a sad smile and scooted back closer to the frame and started quilting again. In and out, over and over again.

The trouble with quilting was that it gave you time to think.

I pivoted, turning the fabric under the needle and sewing down the next seam line. It wasn't as hard as I thought.

Ina came back in the room. "One satisfied customer. She said thanks for the fat quarter, by the way. She found it on her car?" She looked at me questioningly. I just shrugged.

"Anyhow, she's looking forward to the sale and spending lots of money.

"Great job." I pulled out the fabric from under the needle and cut the thread. The seam was tight with no signs of puckering. I felt a flash of pride. I'd done a good job.

"How does my block look?"

Ina picked it out of my palm and frowned. She prodded at the seams I'd sewn, and pushed down the middle with her fingers. "Pretty good. Go iron."

Ina kept up her quilt talk. I tried to follow what she was saying, but it wasn't easy. "Be careful," she said. The edges of your diamonds are bias, so you have to be very careful of the way you iron them... "

"Iron? You didn't tell me there was ironing in quilting. Come on, I'm the one who irons wrinkles into my clothes. I'm a great folder."

Pearl was grinning.

I continued, "Trust me, if you're a good enough folder, you don't need to iron."

Ina said. "I'm sure that philosophy suits you well for life, but in quilting you must iron." She pointed to where the ironing board leaned up against the wall.

Pearl said, "Don't worry, it's far more fun pressing quilt blocks than khakis. Go on. Set up the ironing board."

I was shaking my head as I pulled the ironing board away from the wall. The legs made a terrible screeching noise as I put them down. I tried not to think of it as my own screams.

One glimpse of the ironing board's new cover told me why the two women were grinning.

The entire top of the new cover was a photo of a nearly nude fireman, abs rippling, red suspenders defining his pecs. His fire pants rode low on his hips, showing just the beginning of the hairy line that led from his navel and disappeared.

"Oh my," I said.

Pearl and Ina roared with laughter, Ina snorting and Pearl throwing her head back so hard she nearly tipped her chair over.

Pearl said, "Like him? We're calling him Petey."

"Or Major Johnson."

"How about King Leer?" Ina and Pearl were both sputtering now.

I giggled. This was a first, being pranked by these senior citizens. "You two are crazy."

"You should have seen your face," Pearl said, giggling.

The door opened with a bang. Mrs. Unites came into the classroom, her eyes wild.

"The dead man is speaking to me," she said.

ELEVEN

"LOOKING FOR ME?" I stood in front of the ironing board, practically covering it with my body. Pearl and Ina were beginning to laugh harder.

"That policeman is not listening to me." Her voice was high and reedy. She was breathing hard. "He keeps making jokes about bad burritos. You know my food is always fresh."

I did know this about her. She was fanatical. "He doesn't really think you poisoned him. He just doesn't want to reveal too much," I said.

"I'm telling you, like I told him. DDT."

She looked around to see if we were tracking what she was saying. We must have looked a little nuts ourselves, caught in the silliness of the ironing board trick.

She sounded desperate. Her usually flawless English became heavy with the Mexican cadences of her parents. "I know this. I know what it looks like. My parents were migrant workers. When a girl found herself in a family way that was not anticipated, a little DDT would take care of the problem."

She stopped. "Too much, and she'd end up with the same face as that man the other night."

"Frank Bascomb?" I asked.

Mrs. Unites smacked the table. "Exactly like that."

Ina was rolling her eyes, and Pearl was about to make the crazy sign by her temple. Mrs. Unites caught them and shook a finger at the pair.

"You'll see I'm right." She left the room in a huff.

"What was that?" Ina asked.

Pearl giggled. "She needs to chill. She could have used a little glimpse of Colonel Weiner."

I wasn't sure. Her ranting set my teeth on edge. "I don't know, you guys, she's usually very together. This murder investigation has her way off track"

"All of us are a little loony," Ina said. "Now close that board up and get Vangie in here. She's next."

I dutifully went to the office. I could get back to my work now.

"Ina and Pearl would like to see you," I said to Vangie.

"Where've you been? Your cell has been ringing. Buster's ring. Isn't it about time you went home to get ready for date night?" Vangie asked.

I reached in the box of notions to count the red floss I'd ordered. I glanced at the clock. It was going on four. "Soon. I should leave by five-thirty to have enough time to wash my hair, and shave my legs."

"Shaved legs, huh?" She leered at me.

I ignored her innuendo. "Did you talk to Zorn? What did he ask you about?" I wondered what he'd thought about Mrs. Unites' theories.

"He asked a lot of questions about my trip over to the guild meeting. Did I see anyone walking funny? Like that."

"Did you?"

Vangie shook her head. "Not me. But the guild e-mail group is full of people who thought they saw a drunk walking in the neighborhood."

One more thing I'd forgotten to do. I'd fallen down on the job of watching that listserv. I pulled up my e-mail. Usually, I kept up with what the five hundred quilters who made up the local guild were doing and talking about, by going to their meetings once a month and subscribing to their list. A digested version of their messages came in my inbox once or twice a day, depending on the volume. Sometimes days went by with only one or two messages. There was always a flurry right before their monthly meetings.

And there was a storm now. I scrolled through.

The guild meeting had started at six on Tuesday. According to someone called quiltingsassy, she'd called 911 just before the meeting because there was a drunk wandering in the street nearby. Someone else had gotten to the meeting late and saw him closer to the street that QP was on. There was plenty of speculation about who he was.

I closed the e-mail.

My cell rang. It was Buster.

Vangie recognized his ring, too. "Told you," she said. "That boy is eager."

"Go," I said with a shooing notion. "Ina, Pearl, remember?"

"All right," she said and pushed away from her computer. I took a peek. She'd been working on the online store website. She'd scanned fabrics and was grouping them in batches that would make them easy to find on the Internet. I felt a jolt of excitement at the prospect of having customers in New Zealand or Germany.

I answered my phone.

"How's everyone doing over there?" Buster asked.

I brought one leg up under me and got comfortable in my chair. Out the window, I could see a customer wandering through the fabric. Probably planning her assault on the store early Saturday morning, when the discount was highest. I wrote myself a note to check the usual hiding places. I had one or two customers who liked to stash bolts where only they knew where to find them.

I heard gales of laughter coming from the classroom. Vangie had met Petey.

I got back to Buster. He was talking about me meeting him at my house.

"I'm going home early. I need to go to Los Angeles in the morning," he said. This voice, the low one meant just for me, set off bottle rockets in my stomach. "Can you get home soon? Like in ten minutes? I'd like to start Date Night early."

My insides were getting even warmer as I tried to figure out if I could get out of here. I had piles of work to do. Then again, I could always come back here after our date and catch up. I was warming to the idea. I might even be able to get more work done after hours.

Date night had started as Buster's effort to court me and, like so many things we did, it had turned into a contest. We took turns planning our Wednesday nights, trying to outdo one another. So far we'd been to the shooting range (my idea), to the Demon roller coaster at Great America (his) and plenty of restaurants and bars.

They'd all been fun, but last week had been the best one yet. And not because of where we went.

We'd stopped at Gayle's Bakery in Capitola for takeout and took the pasta salad and sandwiches to the beach at dusk. The night air was soft and balmy. We'd spread out an old quilt on the sand and ate. Someone had lit a bonfire down the beach.

Bay Area weather was contrary. October nights were warmer than July ones. The sun set and the fog had lifted, revealing a canopy of twinkling stars. I was loving being right where I was. With Buster, under the stars, on a quilt made long ago by my mother. My heart swelled and I leaned in and gave him a kiss.

"What was that for?" he asked, gathering me close to him.

"I'm having fun," I said. Silly as it sounded, I was. There was no place I'd rather be.

"This is your idea of a perfect date, huh?" Buster asked. He propped himself up on one elbow and was watching me. He moved a stray hair from my cheek. I could barely tell the difference between his touch and the soft breeze.

"Not quite perfect," I said, just to see his worried look. The eyebrows came together and the two lines at the bridge of his nose got very deep.

"All I need..." I paused for great effect. "... is to see a shooting star"

His forehead didn't unfurrow as I'd expected. Instead he said the sexiest thing I'd ever heard.

"I want you to have what you want," he said and turned his face upward as if he could force a star to start hurtling toward the earth.

I waited to see if there was more to come, but Buster stayed quiet, his breath going in and out of his chest. I let his words sink into me. So simple, but so profound. Was there anyone else who wanted that and only that? Whatever I wanted? The notion that what I wanted was so important to this man stopped me.

No shooting star that night, but it didn't matter. I had what I wanted. A guy who got me, who knew what was important to me, and would help me get it.

Now he was saying that again. He wanted me to have what I wanted. I had to be sure we were talking about the same thing.

"Are you suggesting that we might meet at my house and have sex?" I said. "Before the official Date Night?"